


Not a Confession Exactly

by bluesquare



Category: The Wayhaven Chronicles (Interactive Fiction)
Genre: Also Angsty Kisses, F/M, Feelings Realization, Kissing in the Rain, Minor Spoilers, Not Actually a Confession but Close Enough, Sexual Tension in Confined Spaces, Stranded in the Rain, When Your Emotionally Constipated Not Boyfriend is in Denial
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-08
Updated: 2018-04-08
Packaged: 2019-04-20 02:05:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14250741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluesquare/pseuds/bluesquare
Summary: When you’re trapped in a dingy telephone booth because of a storm and you and your emotionally constipated not-boyfriend have not talked about the elephant in the roomHappens post-book one but pre-book two





	Not a Confession Exactly

**Author's Note:**

> I know I promised an Easter update but family obligations got in the way. So I was planning to release this after I finish Shall We Dance but decided to post this anyway as a small apology for the delayed chapter
> 
> It can be read as a standalone but if anyone remembers, it’s the telephone booth scene mentioned chapter in chapter three
> 
> And as always, feel free to drop me messages here or in my tumblr (squarelyblue) especially if you have requests or scenarios you want me to work on!

“I knew I should’ve brought the umbrella!” Emma groaned. Her damp forehead was resting against a glass panel, eyes shut in annoyance, as she tried to ignore the discomfort of how wet her shoes were.  _Of all the days to get caught in a storm…the Mayor isn’t going to be happy about skipping out on that meeting_

“A sentiment I share, Detective. Though I have to admit this isn’t the worst case of rain I’ve had to weather." 

Emma didn’t bother to lift her gaze from her self-imposed corner of the telephone booth. "Was that a pun Agent du Mortain? Because I swear it’s an awful one.”

A strained chuckle left his lips, “Not intentionally, Detective. But remind me again what you said at the warehouse during the Murphy incident?”

“I was delirious!”

Emma twisted to face him. Her cheeks were busy burning scarlet, sharply contrasting the cold from her rain-soaked clothes. A few flyaway strands of damp hair clung angrily to her forehead, almost matching the distress in her eyes. Adam met her gaze. His half-smile, mirthless and sardonic, lasted a fraction of a second before turning back into his usual grim self. The green of his eyes was its usual iciness – intimidating in its intensity – but there was something else that Emma couldn’t quite pinpoint. Something that made her breath hitch. 

_A chance for an answer_

She took a step forward, grounding herself in the curiosity of whatever gnawing thoughts Adam still kept. It had been a year or so since Murphy and a lifetime of unsaid things between them. Months of awkward glances and lingering touches. Seconds and moments of almost but never tipping over into being. It was a dance, always circling around the subject but never ever breaching it.

And now, in a squall of rain, in a dingy telephone booth in the middle of some park – whose name feels so inconsequential at the moment – with nothing but the familiar unresolved tension and a near physical ache. She wanted to know. Needed to know.

_What am I really to you?  
_

“Adam,” Emma began softly, “about the Murphy incident–”

He turned away, his lips pressing into a thin line while his arms folded themselves across his chest. “The past is the past and you’re safe now. That’s all that matters.”

“You know I know you better than that.”

Adam sighed, running his hand through his blonde hair. “I’ve messaged the rest of the team to bring the car and umbrellas. And, um, other necessities.” His cheeks flushed a little, more pink than how red she was in comparison – silently thanking that Emma had chosen to wear black for today. “All things considered, they should be here in a few." 

A flash of lightning streaked over the distance. The boom of thunder rumbled next, harmonizing cacophonously with the wind. Adam’s displeased groan followed not a minute after, mingling with Emma’s own frustrated one, at the onslaught of droplets pattering against the booth. 

"Or not,” Emma replied. “The Mayor’s not going to be happy about us not being at the meeting”

“When  _is_  he happy to see us anyway?" 

It was less a question and more of a statement, one that Emma couldn’t help but laugh at. The low rasp of a chuckle clung to the air, one that Adam couldn’t help but smile at, as Emma moved to stand next to him. "I wouldn’t know. I’m only summoned when he needs a scapegoat or someone to yell at.”

“Shows what he knows of competence. You are good at what you do, Detective.”

“If I was,” Emma whispered slowly, her gaze tilting upwards to meet Adam’s, “I would’ve figured us out a long time ago.”

“Us?”

“Yeah.  _Us_.”

Another boom of thunder echoed outside, the howling of the winds  rattling against the glass as a flash of lightning struck again. In that moment, Adam had shifted his weight towards her – almost pinning her against the glass. His eyes bore into her own with a kind of intensity that Emma knew the scales in his mind had begun to weigh her confession. 

“Adam, what are we exactly?”

The words were heavy on her lips, forcing whatever nerves that had built in her throat down in a visible gulp. She clenched her knuckles, the tension turning them white, as her fingers dug crescents into the palm of her hand. Emma steeled herself, her gaze boring into Adam’s, wordlessly asking for the truth  
There would be no running from this

A moment between a minute and forever bore on them. The silence almost deafening against the white-noise of the rain. The green of Adam’s eyes never left Emma’s grey, searching for any semblance of a joke. 

When he found none, he broke contact. He leaned forward, his eyes flitted from her gaze down to her lips and back up, a rough exhale shuddering through his body, nearly reverberating through Emma’s own. His breath mingled with hers – puffing visibly in the cold spring air – their mouths dangerously close. 

“I…I can’t answer that.”

“And why not?”

“Because if I’m rather afraid of the answer myself.”

A bolt of lightning flashed brightly through the mist and rain, highlighting the conflict that warred in his expression. His mouth was a grimly set, a harsh line that Emma knew that he was refusing to say something. But in the green of his eyes, Emma saw what he could not utter. Or rather, something that she hoped she wasn’t wrong in seeing

_I care for you too much to see you hurt by someone like me_

_And yet I cannot bring myself to let you go_

“Adam,” Emma whispered. Without thinking, she then brought her hand to cup his cheek, thumbing away droplets that have long dried. “I’m scared too. But I’m more afraid of a future that doesn’t have you in it.”

The blare of another lightning strike lit the backdrop – this time highlighting the sincerity in Emma’s voice, the tilt of her face, and the flicker of want in her eyes. “Adam,” she began again, her hands dropping to hold him by his shoulders, “I don’t know if you prefer me as a, a, a friend or something more. But all I can say is—”

And his lips were on hers, teeth clattering at the contact, almost skimming the skin of her mouth. Emma’s eyes widened in surprise before shutting themselves close as she adjusted the angle of their kiss. 

He tasted like the ozone, a storm of feelings neither of them fully understood, but one that felt just as familiar as the rain. He was crisp like petrichor and adamant like the onslaught of droplets. A surge of desire shoot through his veins, rumbling through his body like a distant thunder, a primal need to tell her that Emma wasn’t wrong. He desired her as much as she did in his life. He sought her permission, tongue sweeping against her lower lip, asking if he could taste her just as she could taste him. 

She obliged. Her hands fisted themselves in the fabric of his shirt, daring him to never stop. And at her first sigh, Adam could taste what spring felt like – the promise of something beyond the winter-like somberness of his life. She wasn’t sweet like the flowers that bloomed during this time, not with how her body clung to his, but something raw and wanting in the way the earth had opened itself to the sky. 

And once seconds had passed into infinities, infinities back into seconds, the rain began to slow itself to a stop. Adam pulled back, gently pushing away the damp strands of Emma’s hair away from her face, when a dawning thought struck him. 

_Shit._

“I…I’m sorry.”


End file.
